There She Goes My Beautiful Girl
by Nicholas de Vilance
Summary: /Totally not Wincest, I swear/ Sam sits at the bar watching his brother and comes to a rather interesting and belated realization. /Rated PG for language and insinuations. Not mine, I just borrow them./


Slim hips, golden skin, sweet pink lips. I looked at her sitting next to my brother where maybe a hundred other girls have sat before. There was some puzzle there with the way she just clung to him, doting over his pretty face—because it _is_ pretty—and his allure of danger—because it _is_ alluring. Did she have any idea of the numerous others that preceded her? How could she not, what with Dean's practiced smile, graceful flirtations and experienced insinuations? It struck me that she wasn't disgusted or furious with my sex-fiend sibling. If I were her, I wouldn't have touched him with a ten- or twenty-foot pole. Yet, still, there she was, leaning against him, smiling with her lips micrometers away from his face.

Then, with the glowing warm smile he returned to her, it dawned on me: Love. Not enough to say "I love you more than all the world," but it was still there. He loved her, just a little bit, and maybe on some level, she loved him. I can't believe I never noticed before. She didn't just come up and approach him out of some carnal desire—because he practically radiates it. Rather, there was something mutual between them, something warm and welcoming.

Quickly, I realized what I'd been missing for the last year. Dean loved women. Sure, sure, that seems obvious in the conventional or superficial sense, but this was deeper. He literally loved every woman he'd gone with, enough for a solid relationship. And he also loved them enough to leave before it got so serious that he hurt them.

Damn it, I'm such a selfish idiot. All of my complaining that I want a normal life, a wife, kids maybe. I want to settle down and why does he have to keep me from that, blah, blah, blah. Dean…does too. Well, maybe not the normal part, but he wants love, a relationship and this is the closest he'll got to it. That blond chick whispering sweet things to smile about in his ear, that was his intangible dream, right before me. And all those others, I'd missed it.

Abruptly, her voice broke me from my thoughtful stupor. "I'll have to get back to work," she announced, to Dean only. With that, she kissed him on the lips, with tongue and I tried to push away the thought that maybe Dean really was just a walking porno. Then, the smiles were back. "I get off in an hour."

"That's wonderful," Dean stated, "I'll be here."

She walked away and he watched her, eyes glued to her back and no doubt the way her jeans hugged tightly to her ass. To be honest, I stared at her too, but mostly I was looking at Dean. Until she'd returned to behind the bar, he didn't even bother to break his gaze. I smiled at him, blatantly even when he turned and collected himself again to play it cool. Whatever you do, Dean Winchester, don't get caught acting like the hopeless romantic you are on the inside.

"She's hot," he commented, clearing his throat.

I was still smiling at him and I think I was making him feel uncomfortable. My normal response would be a disgusted scoff and rolling my eyes, but I couldn't bring myself to follow status-quo. "Yeah, she is," I replied.

In that moment, I'm not sure why, Dean's eyes widened with his brightened smile and he laughed. Not a mocking chuckle of his trademark guffaw. He laughed honest and true because he was happy; maybe a little drunk, but still happy. Reaching across the table, he patted my shoulder in a way that made him really look like a big brother. I'm not entirely sure what I did to provoke it, but damn had I missed this. He wasn't hiding and he didn't act like he couldn't stand being around me. Maybe it was the simple fact that I understood him now—perhaps he was always like this, and I finally pulled my head out of my ass and noticed it.

"I can go back to the motel room, if you want some privacy."

He shook his head. "You don't have to go just yet. Hang out with me, have a beer." With a furrowed brow, he leaned back and stared at me. I had long since grown out of the phase of needing to impress my big brother, but right then, the way he was contemplating me, was like a flashback to adolescence. "I don't know why, but I feel great, right now."

My heart clenched in my chest and I almost choked on the sudden urge to bite back tears. "That's good," I told him. It was true, that _was_ a good thing. He deserved it for everything he's done for me, everything he's sacrificed to keep this damned family together. Whatever it was about tonight made him look so alive, like I hadn't seen him in a long time. Sure, it was a little awkward, but _Dean felt good_. I didn't want this night to end; I didn't want us to go back to our lives tomorrow, to the stress and the pain and…

I'm such a little bitch. Dean's right, always right; he always knew everything about me and I took twenty-three years to figure out him. What kind of brother am I? I'm a selfish bastard. He's given his happiness, his dreams, he damned soul to watch out for me, to keep _me_ safe, and what did I ever do for him in return? "Need to be back to Stanford by Monday." Not near Dean, where he needed me. "Gotta find Dad." Had to be blind not to notice Dean right beside me. "How dare you die for me…" And I'm the stupid bitch that didn't see that he loved me enough that he'd go to hell for me…Selfish bastard.

Now, he's staring off into space, no doubt in some reverie plotting out everything he plans to do with Candy tonight. Or was it Cindy? On any other day before this, I would have hated that he had her number scribbled on that napkin. I would have pouted and whined about how he's not helping me find a way to save him; he's not helping _me_. _I, I, I, me, me, me._ Soon, he might be gone—_I can't say dead!_—and the last thing I would remember of him could be some bull shit twisted by my own egotism.

When she came back, I found out her name was Cathy and that I wasn't going to be sleeping at the motel tonight. For the first time in a long time, I was just fine with that. He deserved it; I needed to stop taking for once. Thank you, random barmaid with bubblegum pink lips. As they walked out together, Dean's arm slung around her lower back, he glanced over his shoulder at me and I tried not to cry.

_Go on and love, Dean. Love another night with your beautiful girl._ I didn't say that, for the sake of not sounding like a sappy drunk. They leave. I'm alone in the bar for a few more hours. The tragedy starts to descend again when I remember that in a few months, I'm going to be alone a lot more often, but it's different this time. This time, I have the strange notion to just let it happen, to stop trying so hard to cling to him. _Your beautiful girl._ I have to let him go some day. Whether he goes to hell or not…

_There you go with your beautiful girl_…damn it.


End file.
